Monthly Archives: September 2014

Warmup – Start yelling warnings that it’s almost time to leave. Repeat until children move (rare) or there is seriously no more time.

Pull long pants off child; work on mobility by avoiding kicks to the arms and face.

Give pants to child to put in hamper. Alternate: Just take them there yourself; it’s easier than picking them up off the floor later.

Deadlift child to table; remember to hinge at the hips and engage the glutes to avoid lower back injury.

Pull left shin guard on; improving dexterity will result in fewer complaints about scratchy velcro straps. Repeat for right side.

Pull on left soccer sock. Repeat for right side.Special Equipment: Specially formulated socks that seem simultaneously way too big and far too tight; designed to improve grip strength.

Shove left foot into cleats; you want motion that swings out and up to grip the heel. Repeat for right side.Challenge: Prepare cleats with double-knotted laces, preferably wet. Increases dexterity and tests stress response.

Lower child from table in goblet squat position.

Repeat “Do not bounce that ball in the house!!!” – continue to failure/fatigue.

Cooldown – Choose from:

Chase children to car and buckle in. Practice belly breathing on drive to soccer field to prepare to greet other parents with a smile.

Thank partner profusely for taking this one for the team. Shut door behind the mob and feel your shoulder muscles relax.

Run soccer bag to car for partner who forgot and had to turn around. Smile anyway because the house is still quiet.

*Increase as needed for appropriate number of children, but frankly if you have to get more than two ready for a practice at the same time, you should win the CrossFit Mom games. Or at least get a silver.

Also I do not have enough ice packs.
I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that I haven’t been riding enough this summer. But I went out on the trail and attacked it with the same speed and vigor as last year, though I didn’t go quite 26 miles this time.

I really should have taken it a little easier. My quads are ON FIRE. Too many hills, too hard, too little practice.

The good news is that I wasn’t really tired, so my heart and lungs appear to be in reasonable shape.

I’m sure my legs will recover. And I promise I’ll throw the carrots out so you don’t have to be afraid to eat at my house.

Bats are creepy. Paul thinks this is a matter of opinion, but I am here to tell you that no, it is not. It is a fact. Very, very, creepy. Eat insects, blah blah blah. They have hands that are not quite hands. Creepy.

There are snow leopard cubs. They are not at all creepy, though for the record, I still wouldn’t want to cuddle one, what with the claws and all.

Paul was recently discussing vacation with a person who shall not be named, who said that we should take our kids somewhere next summer for sure, because it’s so nice when they are little, instead of whiny teenagers. I’m not calling Person X a liar, exactly, but I’m really not sure how anyone could have been whinier than Levi was today. Truly a Herculean effort.

His Majesty would not lower himself to ride the carousel. Elias and I think this was a mistake. It was fun.

Apparently everyone was having a Friday sort of day. Lots of napping.
I love the tiger. Seriously, just don’t even look at me right now.

I was delighted to discover the excellently chosen sponsor for this exhibit.
Just me? Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.

We got the mail on the way in the lane. It is the season of checking for wolf spiders before grabbing letters. I love fall, but I could honestly do without that bit.

And the quote of the day: “Moooooooommmmmm. We have to go home. There’s nothing to do here but look at animals.”

Acting on thoughtful feedback from yesterday’s post, Paul and I talked to Elias a bit last night about people dying. We asked if he felt sad, and maybe scared, because Gigi and Grandpa Z both died. We got a nod.

Me: Do you feel scared that Mama and Papa might die?
E: <nod, with big eyes>
Me: Well, Gigi and Grandpa Z were both sick. Mama and Papa aren’t sick. We are okay.
E: But, but, but, when you are both dead, where will we live*?
<sound of parental hearts breaking>
P: Well, honey, you’ll live with your own families. You’ll be big grown men.
E: But … but, when you are both dead …
<long pause; parents hold breath, worrying for child’s tender heart>
E: When you are both dead, does that mean I can do anything I want? And I don’t have to take naps?

When Paul got done laughing, he said, “Yes. When both your parents are dead and you are a big grown adult, you can do anything you want.”

And then, turning to me, “How’s that working out for you, honey?”

* I do plan to talk to him about who would take care of him if something happened to us. I vividly remember asking that question as a kid, being told that I would go live with Uncle Everett and Aunt Marge, and being comforted to my core. Not only because Aunt Marge is kindness personified, but becausethere was a plan.

Whose woods these are I think I know;I will not ‘fess up right now, though.*

Hi. You guys know how much I love this little punk, right? I want you to keep that in mind as you read the rest of this post. Because I cannot stand him right now. For real. He is being SUCH A JERK.

If he is not actively having a fight with his brother, he is trying to start one. He repeats everything Levi says until Levi hits him (in fairness to Levi, this particular behavior makes me want to hit something, too) and then he sobs pitifully as though he is the blameless injured party. He will not cooperate with anyone on anything, as far as I can tell. If I tell him to sit down for lunch please, we are having his six favorite foods accompanied by all the pop he can drink, he shouts, “NO!! NEVER!!!!!” and stomps his feet.

He does not love me. I am not his friend anymore. He only loves Daddy (particularly hilarious, since that’s not the story Daddy hears). He is never loving me again. NO NEVER!!!

I know he looks like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, but I’m telling you, this kid is a pip.

i cannot wait for him to get on the bus in the morning. (Dear Preschool Staff: Thank you. I’m sorry. May God be with you.) I do not want to pick him up at noon. Actually, that’s not true. I’m always happy to see him when he comes out of the building. Two minutes later, when he is refusing to get into the car and lying on the sidewalk, I’ve changed my mind.

Part of me believes that this will pass. He just turned four. He just started preschool (and we are finally having a “normal” week with no missed days, so the routine has been weird). He has lost two much-loved grandparents in the last three months. I know all the reasons, and I can talk the talk.

The other part of me believes that I am raising a sociopathic monster. One that sits around and plots ways to make his mother cry in frustration.

I know I’m not exactly at my best right now, either. I am so worn out, and the (limited) patience I usually have for shenanigans is vaporizing before my very eyes.

If you have any suggestions for me that will not get me arrested, please share. If you don’t have any suggestions, I will accept commiseration. Beggars can’t be choosers.

* This picture has nothing to do with the text of the post, really. I just think it’s funny.

This was waiting for me on the table when we got home from calling hours tonight.
My sister (who had the children in bed and also gave me a neck massage, so feel free to start her application for sainthood anytime) informed me that Levi and Elias asked to leave it there so didn’t forget I had boys.

If I HAD forgotten – in the six hours since I’ve seen them – I think the mud-soaked laundry and the stray Legos would have tipped me off. Ya know?

But I went in and kissed them goodnight, just to be sure I remembered.

It is nearly 1:00 in the morning, and I cannot sleep. I’ve tried all the usual tricks. I think it might be karmic punishment for saying, less than 36 hours ago, “I used to really struggle with insomnia, but I’ve been much better lately.” So, so foolish.

I am exhausted, but apparently not the kind of exhausted that helps you fall asleep. I do know why, really, but I’m tired of thinking about it.

Paul’s dad died on Saturday. We knew it was coming, for a while now. But, as any of the bereaved since the dawn of time will tell you, no one is ever really ready.

When it was my turn, Paul continued his normal behavior, which is to say he acted like the Rock of Gibraltar – sheltering, timeless, and immovable – except that he amped it up some. It seems like this is what I should be doing now, but I feel very squishy. My desire is to be supportive, not just to Paul, but for everybody in the immediate family. I feel profoundly unqualified. No wise man ever built his house upon a sponge.

Someone said to me the morning of Mom’s funeral that sometimes you have to get up, dress up, and show up. It was exactly what I needed to boot me out of the pit that morning, and I’ll be thinking of it this week as well.

Now it is after 1:00 in the morning, and I’m going to go lie down again. I’m hoping that dumping my brain will help it stop gyrating. It needs some rest, along with the rest of me.